The Curse of Emerald Green

By Terri Marie

“The Curse of Emerald Green” is a unique and intriguing romantic mystery set in Victorian Era England. The story enfolds as the heroine, penniless Catherine Culpepper, nearly 18, upon the tragic deaths of her parents, begins her journey at the doorstep of Pepperwood, the ancient ancestral manor of her uncle. Catherine settles in, and with her cousin Amelia of the same age, prepares for the round of summer balls in London’s exclusive High Society. But Amelia dies under suspect circumstances and Catherine takes a stab at the role of amateur detective. She is perplexed as to who would wish to “murder” the stunning and accomplished Amelia. Could it be possible that one of the family, household members, or feasibly a jealous suitor, might very well be the one? Catherine was dead set on finding the answer. Sleuthing in tandem with the police inspector, Catherine develops into a tenacious and clever young woman seeking a killer. But life becomes dangerous for her as she unearths the many secrets deep in the recesses of Pepperwood. As she comes closer to solving the mystery, Catherine becomes a target herself and her life is in deadly peril. Surely, the colorful characters, tangled twists and turns, the enigmas surrounding the ancient manor, along with a captivating romance, will be a fun read for those who enjoy cozy romantic mysteries.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 8, 2024
• ISBN: 9781663260703

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

I still have nightmares that I am once more in that dank, ghastly place riddled with rot. The smoky air penetrates my nostrils as I run to the door and realize I am trapped. I flee to the windows, but they cannot open for they are merely slits in the wall. With no way out I gasp as my lungs fill up with smoke. I scream to those down on the lawn, but they cannot hear me. They hear nothing….nothing as I collapse into the dark ness….

Sitting up in my bed, freed from the nightmare, I awaken to familiar sounds and safe surroundings. After a long sigh and knowing that I am once again secure, I lie back on my pillows and muse on my first encounter with my beloved Pepperwood and the ensuing fate that awaited me….

I had always thought that Aunt Clarissa would agree to take me in just for show. Her friends admired her for accepting the huge burden of caring for an orphaned niece as my parents had tragically been killed in a carriage accident. I was left penniless. Papa had been a gambler so the proceeds from the sale of our London townhouse were used to pay off his outstanding debts. I had few possessions other than some worn out dresses and a couple of inexpensive pieces of Mama’s jewelry. I also brought along my precious Toby. Aunt Clarissa thought a dog in the house was disgusting, but Uncle Julien understood that I needed the sense of security that Toby brought me.

So it was with much reservation that I became part of Pepperwood, the grand and haughty house of my ancestors, deep in the forests north of London. It had been handed down through the centuries to the eldest son of each generation, that now being my uncle, Sir Julien. Grandiose paintings of a long line of Culpeppers filled the walls of the gallery. One painting in particular always drew my attention. It was that of my namesake, Catherine Culpepper, sister of the notorious Thomas Culpepper, who met with a brutal death for dallying with a wife of Henry VIII. It seemed that the violence of that era still enveloped Pepperwood. I could not get used to this imposing house with its medieval design, cold and dark, and so different than the modest but cozy townhouse in which I was raised.

Cousin Amelia readily accepted me, thrilled to have a companion her own age. We had lessons with Miss Marlowe who also instructed Amelia’s younger sister, Alexis, whom we affectionately called Alex. My eldest cousin, Mathias, had a penchant for drinking and gambling and spent his time in London at the gaming tables and various clubs. And there was Mathias’ wife, Joanna.

This was my newly acquired family residing at Pepperwood. Amelia and I became fast friends, but Aunt Clarissa thought better of my cousin and I sharing a suite, so I was put in Mathias’ old room with its thick masculine furnishings and cluttered with all sorts of unattractive bric-a-brac. But I had never been much for frills and Amelia chided me often for the slight attention I paid to my ambience. Although I came to know Amelia to be quite shallow and self-centered at times, I still admired her confidence and her stunning beauty. Her eyes were a startling green, the color of emeralds, and her hair, the softest shade of flaxen. I, in contrast, inherited the unruly dark hair of my mother, and smoky blue eyes, which were, according to my father, reminiscent of a Siamese cat. In addition, I possessed neither self-assurance nor charm.

Our fathers had been brothers with similar build and temperament, but our mothers were the antithesis of each other. Mama had been quiet and warm. Aunt Clarissa was mean-spirited with an acid tongue. But she and Uncle Julien had taken me in after the death of my parents and I should, of course, be eternally grateful. Perhaps Aunt Clarissa would rather that I had sought employment of some kind, as a nanny or companion to an elderly woman, or possibly a parlour maid, but Uncle Julien had insisted that I be taken in at least until I reached the age of eighteen, which I was about to do shortly.

Amelia and I, being only a few months apart in age, were completing our last year of studies. We were fast approaching marriageable age and Uncle Julien reached the decision that I would be groomed along with Amelia to properly enter society so as to acquire a husband. So, Miss Marlowe traded our mathematics and history lessons for, as she said, the more important skills of dancing and the art of drawing room conversation. Mr. Cresswell, the Parson’s son, spent several days a week teaching us painting while his sister, Annabel, showed us her marvelous needlework which we painstakingly tried to copy. We also took piano and singing lessons with Miss Diana Aubrey and riding lessons with Mr. Brinley. Amelia and I were eager to learn our lessons well so as to enter society and attain the much-coveted prize of marriage.

Wanting to be the belle of London, Amelia balked at Uncle Julien’s decision to stay at Pepperwood during the Season and commute the short distance to London to attend the balls. She and Aunt Clarissa wished to rent a grand townhouse for the entire length of the Season. But Uncle Julien insisted that overnight stays in London would only be permitted on the evenings of certain particular balls to which we had been invited. Furthermore, he pointed out, Aunt Clarissa’s sister, Lady Carrington, would welcome us into her home for those nights, as she lived in the posh section of London near the site of many of the balls. Uncle’s wishes prevailed as he was the Master of the house and held the purse strings of the household.

Aunt Clarissa was a stickler for the attention of others so in order to present a good appearance at the various balls, Aunt Clarissa chose personal maids for Amelia and myself.

Amelia, you shall have Alice; and you, Catherine Leigh, will have Rachel, she had said.

When the London Season arrived, Rachel and Alice would be required to arrange our hair and dress us in our finery and jewels for the on-going round of balls. But since I had neither finery nor jewels, I must be accommodated, for I was sure Aunt Clarissa longed for me to find a husband quickly and leave her household and responsibility.

Thus, I settled into my new surroundings, a bit ill at ease, for I still yearned tremendously for the old way of life and the comfort of my parents’ home.

CHAPTER TWO

T he Holidays were upon us, my first with my new family. On the Eve of my first Christmas at Pepperwood, I had gone along with the family in the morning to the nearby woodland to pick out the lofty Scottish pine to be placed in the hall and decorated with garland and candles. Memories came flooding back to me as I thought of my excitement last Christmas Eve when Papa had returned home from the tree lot with a towering spruce, so tall that he had to lop off the top branches to fit it through our doorway. Then we strung dainty beads throughout the branches while Mama made a scrumptious di nner.

Rachel’s voice interrupted my train of thought. The crimson silk would be perfect for tonight, Miss Catherine, it being the Holiday and all, Rachel had said as she rifled through the dressing closet that evening. I agreed.

I was grateful to Amelia for lending me some of her gowns, and I felt quite festive in the crimson. As a finishing touch, I pinned to my gown Mama’s golden bell-shaped brooch which she had worn for so many Christmases.

There, I said as I fingered the brooch lovingly, let us not be late for the merriment.

Rachel’s gleaming brown eyes widened in anticipation of the forthcoming festivities. According to custom at Pepperwood, all the servants joined the family on Christmas Eve in greeting carolers with a copper coin and a cup of steaming cider. Afterward, the servants had their party below stairs to exchange presents and kiss under the sweet scent of the mistletoe.

Traditionally, the family served themselves the evening meal, much to the chagrin of Aunt Clarissa, for she wished to be seated and served by the household help on the Holiday just like any other day. But Uncle Julien insisted over her objections that the servants be allowed to have a few hours off for the evening.

An elaborate meal had been prepared for us. We dined on lobster salad, boiled turkey with cream sauce, and cheese dipped in port wine, which had been all laid out on the mahogany sideboard. Then for dessert, we enjoyed delicious pastries with raisins and flaming brandy. After dinner we went on to church in the carriages nestling ourselves under thick rugs for warmth and clutching hot potatoes in our muffs which our cook so thoughtfully baked for us.

Parson Cresswell and his wife, Emily, greeted us graciously as we entered the old church. We were ushered to the front pew reserved for the Culpeppers where their ancestors had worshipped for decades. Tiny, white votive candles decorated the altar along with a lovely creche made of sprigs of evergreen, the scent of which filled the air.

The Parson was not what you would call a motivational speaker, delivering a mundane and lengthy sermon. As we tried to be attentive, I glanced sideways and saw Mathias napping at the end of the pew, which I imagined the result of too much wine and spirits. Joanna nudged him ever so lightly several times. I imagined the Parson must have noticed for he suddenly cut his sermon off, and we were relieved to finally climb into the carriage for the chilly ride home.

The next morning, we opened our gifts as was customary at Pepperwood. I had little money for presents but managed to get a little something for everyone. I had knitted scarves for Uncle Julien and Mathias, embroidered handkerchiefs for Amelia, Auntie, and Joanna, and sewed together a charming little rag doll for Alex. To Rachel I gave a barrette for her hair and to Miss Marlowe a book cover which I had crocheted. I was pleased with my choices. After the ceremonial opening of presents, the family devoted the rest of the morning to Christmas songs and prayers. Then we settled down to an early dinner.

White soup and roast duck in wine sauce was served as was the traditional plum pudding. Afterward, Mathias, in rare good humor, played his violin standing on the dais of the great hall and the family danced around the magnificent candlelit evergreen whirling to the music. Joanna arranged games of charades and blind man’s bluff, and Alex suggested hide and seek. We even took a few turns of musical chairs. By the end of the evening, the excitement had wound Alex as tight as a top, so Uncle Julien reluctantly called it a night. To end the evening, we toasted to our health with a bit of champagne and chocolates.

Amelia and I headed upstairs to turn in for the night. To get to our rooms in the south wing, we passed through the long dimly lit gallery adorned with ancient portraits. Aunt Clarissa had renovated the gallery adding a flair of the Orient with blue and white porcelain and pottery from China. I glanced up to see the painting of my namesake Catherine in her gilded frame. It always seemed to disturb me for I thought that she wore a rather mysterious look on her face, reminiscent perhaps, of the exquisite painting of the famous Mona Lisa.

Oh, Cat, what a wonderful Christmas it has been, Amelia said as she flopped upon her tester bed. Come stay with me for a while.

I sat on her bed while she brushed out her long silky hair. The color of flaxen threads, I thought, gleaming in the candlelight. I touched my own hair, thick and wiry. Amelia watched me through the mirror.

When we are eighteen, we can put up our hair, she said. Let me try it on you.

I always wore my hair pulled back into a knot. She took out the pins, brushed it, and piled it high on my head. Stunned at my reflection, I thought I looked quite attractive. Amelia cocked her head to one side as she surveyed me. You look pretty, Catherine, she said.

I turned up my nose and teased her saying that with her artistic abilities, she could become world famous as a celebrated hairdresser of a prestigious boutique in London.

We laughed together. As it was getting late, I turned to leave and as I did so, I caught a glimpse of the bright green book cover that Aunt Clarissa had given to Amelia.

I have never seen such a vivid color green before, have you? I asked.

This is the newest shade of green straight from Paris, Amelia said as she clutched the book in her hands. Mother said I could have a ball gown made of this color as well.

The color was striking and would be enormously attractive on her as it perfectly matched the green in her eyes. Amelia sighed. Cat, I think I shall die waiting for that first ball to begin.

CHAPTER THREE

T hat night, I dreamt I was in the gallery. It began as a lovely dream. Soft moonlight shone through the windows and strains of sweet violin music flowed into the room. I glanced up at the portrait of my namesake in the gilded frame. She peered down at me with a most disturbing frown and started to speak softly, warnin g me.

Beware! I thought she whispered.

I was startled but just then, Amelia glided into the gallery, breathtaking in a soft flowing gown of emerald green. Is this not the most exquisite gown you have ever seen? Amelia asked, twirling around the gallery.

Amelia, do not be so reckless, I pleaded. You might trip on the trail of your gown and get hurt. But Amelia twirled faster, and the music became deafening.

How can I get hurt in this enchanting dress? Amelia asked, the sound of her voice rising. She laughed hideously and began spinning ever so swiftly.

Amelia, please, you must stop. Catherine warned me.

I glanced back up to the portrait on the wall and began shaking violently.

Cat, wake up. You are having a nightmare. Amelia was at my bedside shaking me out of my dream. Toby jumped upon my bed, his hot breath on my face, for he fretted like a nanny when he sensed something was not right with me.

It was dreadful, Amelia, I cried. I dreamt we were in the gallery, and you were in a gown of emerald green and all the while you were laughing and dancing wildly. It was so strange, and Catherine had whispered a frightful warning to me.

Who? asked Amelia.

My namesake in the gilded frame that sits on the wall of the gallery, I said.

Amelia pursed her lips and dismissed my dream as folly.

Portraits do not speak, Cat, even in dreams. You are acting like a foolish little child. She yawned and stretched her arms.

Will you stay with me a while, Amelia? I asked. I feel so unsettled.

Nonsense! I am going back to sleep, and I suggest you do the same and stop acting like a lunatic, she said over her shoulder as she turned away.

She walked out leaving me alone with only Toby for comfort. After she left, I hurried to the door and turned the latch for I felt safer all alone in my room with it locked. I slipped back into bed and drew Toby closer to me. I thought back to the night when my parents died in the carriage accident. They went out partying a lot, and I would stay home with Toby and our housekeeper. But for no apparent reason, that evening I felt apprehensive as they walked out the front door, even though they had gone out to parties frequently. The uneasiness I had felt then must have been a foreshadowing of the grief which was to follow.

Perhaps this dream was a premonition of something maleficent to occur. Perhaps something frightful was